


Dangling in Deep Doo-Doo

by Cheree_Cargill



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Comedy, Episode: s01e08 Balance of Terror, Gen, Parody, rednecks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 06:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: Co-Written by Cherpring, Cheree Cargill, and MomthingOnce upon a time, there was an online story group on Yahoo! called The Spock and Christine Mailing List.  Pretty much all we did was write and share stories based, obviously, on Spock and Christine.  But occasionally we'd get so silly that we'd collaborate on the looniest story we could come up with.  This is one of them, written by myself, Cherpring, and the late Momthing.  It is basically a redneck version of "Balance of Terror".  I think Cherpring started it.  If it offends you, that's intentional.  We were intentionally politically incorrect when we wrote it and stole at least one of Jeff Foxworthy's "You might be a redneck" jokes.  Anyway, enjoy...





	Dangling in Deep Doo-Doo

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cherpring, Cheree Cargill and Momthing, is copyright (c) 2001 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated R. This story is for the pure hell of it and is nothing but tongue-in-cheek parody. No offense is meant to anyone! Yankees, especially.

Kirk looked around the chapel making sure Leroy Jones and Tiny Smith, his two beefiest security guards, were stationed on either side of the door where he told them to be. He didn't want no trouble here today. The last time this happened, it took them days of combing through the Jeffries tubes before they found the intended groom. Bubba had to knock him out with that Vulcan neck thing before they could pry him loose from the ladder. Coming back to the present, Kirk looked down at the couple in front of him and smirked. Tomlinson was as nervous as a possum just before the hounds were set loose.

"Okey-dokey now, son. We're gonna do right by this pretty lady, ya hear?"

Tomlinson nodded and swallowed hard, sparing a glance toward the two burly security guards between him and freedom. Seeing him look their way, the two guards cocked their phaser shotguns almost simultaneously, the sound reverberating throughout the packed room. They made their point. A quiet titter of laughter rippled through those present, but was soon squelched as Kirk eyed the room balefully.

The crew settled down immediately. This was serious business. The Captain didn't put up with this sort of thing. Hanky panky was one thing, but getting a girl 'in trouble' was quite another.

Kirk cleared his throat loudly. "Okay, then. Let's get on with it." He smiled down at little Angela, noting how well she filled out her gold uniform halter top and mini skirt. She batted her eyelashes and grinned back at him. Too bad Tomlinson had gotten to her first, but then he couldn't be expected to hit on _every_ pretty girl on his ship. Hell, they were _all_ good lookers. It was an unwritten code of Starfleet. Unwritten, but strictly adhered to. No mulefaces or fat asses allowed here. No, siree. Kirk cleared his throat a second time.

"Dearly beloved, we are congregated here in the presence of the Almighty ... "

A shrill whistle sounded from the walkie-talkie in the wall and everyone clapped their hands to their ears. This was followed immediately by red lights coming on and the whooping sound of a red alert.

Pissed off, Kirk marched over to the walkie-talkie and hit the return button with his fist. "Damn it, Uhura! Can't you tone this dad blasted thing down a bit? And who the hell has been playing around with the buttons on my chair again? Ten-four."

"Sorry, Captain Sugah, I'm just here to pass on the word. Y'all had better get back up here to the bridge. Just got a call for help from one of our outposts. Sounds like they're having a heap of trouble down there. And just so's you know, it was Bubba who hit the red alert button. He just gets so excited sometimes, then other times he's so calm and quiet I think there's something not quite right with the boy. Ten-four."

Kirk frowned. "Moseying up there right now, Lieutenant. Ten-four." He turned and glanced at the crew present. They were all staring at him, frozen in place. "You heard the lady, folks. Now scat! Weddin's over! Get back to your posts." Everyone started to scramble for the door. Tomlinson jumped up, a smile of pure relief on his face as he started past Kirk. The Captain grabbed him by the bib of his regulation overalls. "Hold on there, now, son. Just because we got this here little ol' red alert don't mean you get off scot free. We'll settle this little matter later, ya hear?"

"Yes, sir!"

Kirk smiled and let Tomlinson go. He was a good boy, really. Just didn't know when to keep his pecker in his pants, or more to the point, when to use a rubber when needed. Tomlinson cast a quick glance backward and fled.

Little Angela wasn't far behind him. "Hang in there, honey. I'll make sure he does right by you," Kirk assured her as she started past him.

She paused in her trot behind her intended and smiled at him demurely. "Thank you, Captain. I'll hold you to that." And then she, too, headed out the door to her post.

Kirk adjusted his gold suspenders, scratched, then rearranged the family jewels before turning for the door, off to save _somebody's_ ass once again.

* * *

Kirk stomped out of the elevator and saw that Spock was in the command chair again. "Git your ass back to yer own station, you dad-blasted jackrabbit!" he fumed as he watched the half-alien officer scramble to get out of the captain's way. "Dad-burned Yankee," Kirk mumbled as he took his chair.

The Vulcan was an obvious city slicker but Kirk hadn't run him off yet because Spock was the only one on board who'd graduated higher than the sixth grade. He was the only one who was able to figure out that computer contraption they had, too. After all, wasn't Spock the one who'd informed Kirk that the nifty slide out cupholder on the science station wasn't anything of the sort? You were supposed to put these little-bitty records in it and it played music and showed picture shows and did other cool stuff.

Turning back to business, Kirk glanced over his shoulder at Lt. Uhura, the curvaceous black woman who ran the PBX board. The Captain took a second to let his eyes slide over her lush form and thought back to what Doc had said to him about her the other day. "Man alive, I bet that woman could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch!"

Kirk shook the imagery _that_ conjured up away before he got distracted again. "You got anything on the CB there, missy?"

"I sure do, Captain Sugah," she replied. "They're hollering for help over at Outpost Four. Here, let me put that on the big screen TV."

In a minute a really lousy picture formed on the big TV set situated on the front of the bridge. "Shit," Kirk muttered. "Looks like the cable's gone out again. Spock, did you pay the bill this month?"

"Yes, sir. You gave me specific instructions that you wanted to be sure and get the Winston Cup races later this week," the pointy-earred alien answered. "Although why you would wish to spend your time viewing a group of ground vehicles covered with garish advertisements traveling around an oval track--"

"Shut up, Spock," the Captain answered gruffly, readjusting his St. Dale Earnhardt memorial baseball cap. "What _I_ can't figure out is why you haveta talk like a uppity Yankee all the time. Folks'd think you was from Boston or something!"

The screen cleared up some and the face of the station commander came on. He was scratched and battered, covered with dirt and pieces of Owens-Corning pink fiberglass insulation that had come out of the ceiling.

"Man!" Kirk commented reflexively. "You look like the south end of a north-bound mule! What happened to you?!"

"Revenooers," the station commander gasped. "We was attacked by Revenooers! They found our moonshine still and chopped it all to pieces! We barely got out of there with a dozen Mason jars' worth of stuff!"

Kirk gasped and nearly fell out of his chair with horror. "Lord have mercy!" he said. "Just hang on! We're on our way!"

The commander's eyes, however, turned toward another one of his screens and his face crumpled with terror. "Jesus H. Christ, they're comin' back for another go at us! Git your TV over to one of them Ted Turner channels! Do you see it? Right there in the middle of the screen!"

Hurriedly Uhura changed the frequency from ESPN to WTBS and there it was, appearing before their very eyes -- a big black Lincoln Continental star cruiser with the letters "ATF" and the Treasury Department seal on the side. And it was coming straight for them!

"Hard to starboard, Lieutenant!" Spock called out before Kirk could suck in enough wind to give the order.

The inscrutable Asian navigator turned to face the XO, his face very scrutable as he stared at the Vulcan, incomprehension clearly written in his expression. "Huh?"

"He means hang a hard right, dumbass!" Kirk bellowed.

"Well, why the hell didn't he _say_ so, sir!" Sulu groused as he manipulated the board in front of him to initiate the maneuver. Almost immediately his expression softened into a delighted smile. He loved playing with his board. It had all these pretty twinkling little lights on it. It sort of reminded him of Christmas, and ...

The ship lurched sharply sideways sending everyone on the bridge flying every which way. Kinda like a barrel full of monkeys rolling down a hill, Kirk thought not for the first time as he tumbled out of his chair. He really _should_ have those seat belts installed the 'Fleet issued a while back, as this happened at least a couple of times a week. But he didn't like the feeling of being hemmed in. Besides, there was definitely an upside, he thought, as he disentangled himself from the bodacious bod of his PBX officer. Somehow, she always seemed to land in his lap on the deck.

"Anything busted, missy?" he asked concerned as he helped Uhura back up.

Uhura smiled sweetly and lowered her eyes coquettishly. "Nothing but my pride, Captain Sugah. Don't mind me, I'll be juss fine."

Satisfied his most valuable bridge officer was okay, Kirk turned to Spock. "How's about a report, Bubba?"

Spock suppressed a sigh. Kirk only referred to him as 'Bubba' when he was either (a) stressed to the max, (b) inebriated and feeling sappy, or (c) when he had saved his stupid red neck once again. If they only knew back home the indignities he suffered, no Vulcan in his right mind would ever join Starfleet. T'Pring was starting to look better all the time. But speaking of stupid...

"Shields, Captain?"

Kirk's eyes opened wide as he belatedly realized his oversight. "Hell, yeah!"

Spock flipped a switch and an invisible bubble encased the ship. And just in time, too! The Lincoln had followed their maneuver and was hot on their tail. Being as it was a _black_ Lincoln Continental, it was all but invisible against the immenseness of space, the tail lights blending in with the stars as the head ATF agent cut the headlights. Besides, Kirk's humungous pair of fuzzy dice was obscuring the big screen TV's view.

"Sulu, put the pedal to the metal and get us the hell out of here!" Kirk ordered. He hated to do it, but he would have to skedaddle out of here and leave the outpost to defend as best they could the last few mason jars of the best damned moonshine the Confederation could produce. No sense in _all_ of them ending up in the hoosegow. But he'd be damned if he would let them off easy either. He just needed to put a little distance between them while he tried to think. There were a couple of other outposts with stills, and he would do all in his power to save them.

"Roger that, Captain!" Sulu grinned, once again playing with the pretty lights. The engines kicked into overdrive and left the ATF ship in the spacedust.

Kirk turned to Spock, scowling. "Where's that report, Bubba?"

Spock straightened up from his viewer and looked down at Kirk, who was busy sneaking another scratch at his groin. It was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes. Human males were frequently struck with an unfortunate malady known as 'jockitch', and the Captain seemed more susceptible than most. He supposed that was because he was the biggest 'jock' on the ship. "The vessel is indeed an ATF ship, Captain. I have been unable to extrapolate the necessary data needed to determine its precise mission, but I can speculate it may, indeed, be here to establish a governing force and to implement previous codes of the legislature--"

"In American, Spock!" Kirk interrupted irritably.

"I'm guessing they're going to bust the other stills, Captain."

Kirk nodded thoughtfully as he made his way back to his chair, sat down and took a pull off his Miller Lite. This was going to take some hard thinking.

"Captain, Sugah! I'm picking up the Revenooers on an off channel!" Uhura called out.

Kirk swiveled his chair around. "Well, missy, put it up on the Big Screen. Might as well see who we're up against."

Uhura complied, playing with her own pretty lights. A moment later a picture of the Lincoln's interior came on. It was dark, but they could just make out several figures. Then one of them turned so they could see his face in the dash lights. There was a collective gasp on the bridge. Styles turned to look at Spock and spat out just one word. "Yankees!"

Spock gulped as the rest of the bridge crew turned to look at him accusingly. He was going to have to think fast if he didn't want to end up at the business end of a noose. Stiles stood up and hissed, "I oughta whup yer ass!"

"Ah don't know what yew are talkin' about," he said in his best imitation of a Southern drawl. "Mah people may _look_ lak Yankees, but I assure you we come from ShiKahr which is in _SOUTH_ Vulcan. Them there fellas look like Northern Vulcans to me..."

Kirk took a deep breath to calm himself. He knew that Spock was faking the drawl and, as much as he was tempted to whup his ass for being such a smart aleck, he didn't dare. He needed his crew to be able to work as a team if he was going to outsmart the Revenooers, and he couldn't trust anyone else to work the computers.

"Now, y'all cut that out, Mister," he barked at Stiles. "Jest cause Spock looks like a damn Yankee and talks like a damn Yankee, that doan mean he _IS_ a damn Yankee ... and if anybody whups his ass, it's gonna be me, ya hear?"

Stile glared defiantly at the Captain, but the Captain's two bodyguards cocked their phaser shotguns menacingly at him, so he hastily sat right back down.

Kirk glared back at Spock. "OK, son, I saved your butt this time, but you better come up with somethin' real good for me ... Real good..."

Just then Uhura hollered, "Whoo doggie, I got picture AND sound ... wanna hear what they're sayin', Captain Sugah?"

Kirk nodded. "Go ahead, honey, lay it on me..." and then wished he hadn't said that as certain images ran through his head.

Uhura simpered at him and pushed some buttons on her board. An image formed on the large viewscreen in front of them. The Chief Revenooer was talking to one of his men. Both men were dressed in dark pin-striped suits and wearing fedoras, although the rest of their crew had on dark t-shirts with ATF written on back of them in big white letters.

"Get me an ID on that starship ahead of us," the Chief Revenooer said to his man. "Looks like he's running with expired tags. I want to know if there's any wants and warrants out on them."

"Will do, Chief," the man replied, "but I can tell you right now what that ship is. After all, there's only one starship running around the galaxy that's painted a bright orange with the stars and bars ... that's the USS _Enterprise_."

"Jim Kirk? That's James T. Kirk's ship? Damn!" the Chief Revenoor turned toward the screen so that they could see his full face, which they hadn't seen earlier. Spock gasped in shock. The CR was a dead ringer for his father. That could only mean ONE thing...

"Cousin Cletus?!?" Spock gasped. The Captain's bodyguards immediately aimed their phaser shotguns at him.

Stiles jumped up off his stool, which was actually a tractor seat welded to a big spring that was in turn welded to a tire rim. It rocked gently back and forth for a couple of seconds but the navigator didn't notice.

"See? I tol' you! He's nuthin' but a damn-blasted snake-in-the-grass! They dun sent him down here to infiltrate the Sons of the Confederation and bust us up!"

Kirk beaned him right between the eyes with his Miller Lite can, knocking the loud mouth to the floor. "I'll do the accusin' on this ship!" he barked, then swung on the flabbergasted first officer. "Okay, Bubba, fess up and we'll forego the tar and feathers!"

"But, Captain, I swear! I'm NOT a Federal agent! I've never even BEEN to Washington!" Spock sputtered.

"Then how come you know that Revenooer there?" Kirk demanded, taking a white bed sheet from Scotty and slipping it on. The rest of the bridge crew were already settling their hoods into place and Sulu was arranging a large cross near the helm console and getting ready to set it afire. A gallows was being set into place next to navigation.

Spock thought frantically. "I was mistaken, sir!" he gibbered. "I just thought he looked like my Cousin Cletus! But that's ridiculous, of course! Cousin Cletus drives a semi on a regular run between L'Bama and T'Nesee on my home planet! A real good ol' boy, I assure you, Captain!"

Kirk didn't seem convinced and had put his hood on. Spock now noticed the words "Grand Dragon" emblazoned across the Captain's robe. Stiles was on his feet again and knotting the noose.

Spock was beginning to see his life pass in front of his eyes when the Revenooers themselves saved him. The first's officer's attention was suddenly drawn to the big screen TV and he pointed desperately. "Captain! We're being attacked!!"

Everyone involuntarily glanced around and Kirk squawked like a chicken with its neck in a wringer. "Shit a brick! Battlestations!!"

The big black Lincoln had appeared in front of them and fired its main weapon -- a gigantic, moonshine destroying double-bladed axe -- and it was chopping its way toward them at Warp 10!

Kirk snatched his hood off and turned to Sulu. "Quick! Start backing this puppy up as fast as you can muster, Mister!"

Sulu abandoned his efforts to light the cross with his fancy never-say-die Zippo with the stars and bars emblem etched into it and leapt back into his seat, nearly getting whiplash as the thing sprung dizzily on its spring, making him nauseous. He grabbed for the board to steady himself, turning the same shade as the John Deere green of the console in front of him. The possum he had for lunch was vying with the pickled pigs feet he had for breakfast to see which would come up first. He gulped and hit a few of the pretty lights.

A loud, grinding whine filled the bridge. "Backin' up, Captain, but that thing's gaining on us mighty fast!" Sulu hollered out, then took another gulp. That possum was kickin' up a terrible ruckus in his belly.

Meanwhile, Scotty had shed his sheet and made a mad dash for the engineering station. "Captain! The warp motors! The gears are strippin' and ifn we don't slow down, the whole transmission'll freeze up and the dilithium head is gonna crack!"

"I don't give a good God damned!" Kirk shouted back. "Ifn we don't get out of here lickety-split, our ass is grass anyway!"

The whine of the motors grew louder as all present gazed at the big screen TV in mounting horror. The gigantic double-edged ax was getting more gigantic by the second, almost filling the screen completely.

Then, to their amazement, the thing slowly started to lose its momentum and gradually stopped spinning and just hung there in space, just inches from their forward shields. Good thing, too, because Kirk still had several installment payments left on the new paint job he'd had done just a few stardates back. Then something mighty peculiar started to happen. The big double-edged ax began to disintegrate. As it disappeared, the big black Lincoln went back into stealth mode, once again blending in with space.

"Sweet Lord Almighty!" Kirk breathed in relief. "Sulu, go to super tricky evasive maneuver number seven. Bubba, get a fix on that Lincoln's tailpipe. Maybe we can track it down that way and get a bead on her engine."

Spock had gratefully returned to his science station in all the hoopla and was bent over the sensor readouts. The sensors didn't appear to be working. He slammed the side of the readout hood with his open hand and a bluish light came on, bathing his tense Yankee-like features in the eerie light. The computer quickly came up with zero. He straightened up and turned to Kirk not with a little trepidation. It wasn't pleasant being the bearer of bad news in his present situation. "Nothing, Captain. Nada ... zip ... zero. Our sensors aren't picking up a thing."

To his surprise, Kirk took the information in stride. "Okay, then I guess it's time for a powwow. Bubba, you, Scotty, Sulu, and Styles come with me to confab room one. The rest of you, try to hold down the fort. Miss Uhura, give us a holler ifn there's any more trouble. And take the con, will ya, darlin'?"

( _I know, I know. Uhura was NEVER given the con, but this is our A/U._ )

Uhura grinned ear to ear. "Happy to oblige, Captain, Sugah." While the guys filed out toward the fancy elevator (Styles glaring daggers at Spock and mumbling something about forgetting his rope), Uhura sashayed down to the command chair and hopped up into the comfortable well-worn leather of the old pickup seat. It was still warm from Kirk's butt and she wriggled her own in appreciation.

The remaining crew on the bridge stared at Uhura with their mouths hanging open as the doors on the elevator hissed closed, sounding as if a cat had got its tail caught. Starfleet didn't like to let gals take command. Too many hormones, they said. Kirk must really have the hots for her!

Uhura surveyed them coolly. Butter wouldn't have melted in her mouth. "What cha'll lookin' at? You heard the Captain. Mind yer business!"

* * *

The menfolk walked into confab room one which was decked out like an old fashioned bar and grill and which was informally known to the crew as "Doc's Place" and sat around the bar, while Bones McCoy took everyone's drink orders. Spock ordered a Miller Lite with the rest of the men, because he figured there was no need to cast any more suspicion on him than there already was. He sipped his drink slowly because beer always gave him gas, which is why he rarely drank it.

He tried to analyze his first reaction to seeing the revenooer who so strongly resembled his first cousin Cletus. Upon reflection, he realized that this was illogical. He knew Cletus was quite happy making the L'Bama to T'Nessee run and had absolutely no interest in leaving Vulcan. But, it did bring to mind some of the old folktales he'd heard his kinfolk talking about, and he wondered...

"Well, now," Kirk said, belching and wiping the beer foam off his mouth with his hand, "anybody got any idea as to what we're gonna do with these here revenooers that are after us?"

Stiles looked at the Captain and glared at Spock. "I still wanna know how come that Yankee knew that revenooer ... theys gotta be in cahoots with one another ... I mean, lookit, Cappy, the same jackrabbit ears and slanty eyebrows, even down to the green skin."

"Well, whatdaya say, Bubba?" Kirk demanded. "Is it true? Are you kin to them revenooers?"

Spock spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. When this crew got liquored up, they were meaner than an old hound dog chasing a raccoon through a porcupine patch.

"There are tales among my people," he began, "of a branch of one of the ancient families ... they called themselves the H'Atfields ... who disagreed with the teachings of Surak and decided to leave Vulcan to find their own planet ... They were said to have left Vulcan centuries ago and have not been heard from since, except for one unfortunate incident on Alpha Centauri IV..."

Bones McCoy suddenly jumped over the bar and grabbed Tiny Smith's phaser shotgun.

"Did you say Hatfields? Jimboy, if this is true and them there revenooers is Hatfields, then I got a score to settle with them!"

"I did not say Hatfield, Dr. McCoy," Spock intoned solemnly. "I believe I said H'Atfield ... there IS a difference, although I am well aware of the ancient feud the McCoys have with that particular family."

"I know what I heerd you say, Bubba" McCoy growled. "Don't yew go usin' that fancy Yankee lingo on me! Everyone knows 'twas a Hatfield that got Great-great-grandma McCoy in trouble down there on Alpha Centauri IV, and when great-great-great grandpappy took his shotgun and went to find him, the coward took off a runnin' like the jackrabbit great-grandpappy always said he was... Hmmm ... come to think of it, I allus thought that meant the varmint could run fast ... Now, I'm a wondering if'n it warnt on account of his ears... Hmmm..."

McCoy looked at Spock closely, and Spock closed his eyes and sighed.

"Dr. McCoy, I can assure you that, despite any resemblance I might have to a H'Atfield, I am _not_ a member of that family."

"Yew gotta admit he's got a point, there, Bones," Kirk said. "I mean ... lookit how long he's bin on this ship and he's yet to get any of our gals 'in trouble' ... Not that they haven't tried ... Seems to me if'n he were a Hatfield, he'd a bin married long afore this..."

"Well, that may be so, Cap'n" Stiles interrupted, "but what's this got to do with them revenooers? I think we orter go after 'em!"

Kirk casually backhanded Stiles, who looked up at him from the floor where he'd landed in silent astonishment.

"I does the thinkin' around here, mister, and don't yew fergit it!" he barked to Stiles. Then he turned around and glared at Spock. "What'dya think Spock?"

"I agree with Mr. Stiles," Spock said quietly. "I say we should go after them also. Otherwise, they will think that we are weak and we will all end up in a penal colony or worse..."

"What could possibly be worse than a penal colony, Bub...I mean, Mr. Spock?" Sulu asked.

"What could be worse than a penal colony?" Kirk repeated. "Well..." he mused, "...gettin' your pecker caught in a rusty screen door..."

"Havin' yore porch collapse and killin' all yore best huntin' dawgs," McCoy suggested.

"Seeing yer wife on 'The Jerry Klingon Show' gettin' naked with yer brother," Scotty put in thoughtfully.

"Havin' the guvmint raid yore survival bunker in Idaho," began Stiles.

"Havin' to climb up a water tower with a bucket of paint to defend yore sister's honor," Sulu interjected.

"All right!" Spock interrupted. "So there _is_ something worse than a penal colony! My point is, if we do not attack the Revenooers now, they will return to Washington and report that we are weak-willed, defenseless cowards and return with reinforcements."

"Damn, Bubba, I gotta hand it to you!" Kirk answered, then paused to spit tobacco juice into one of the many spittoons located around the ship. "Yo're shore right there! Let's git on back up to the bridge and get after them rascals!"

Back at their usual stations, the crew settled onto their tractor-seat stools while Kirk nestled back into pickup truck seat that was the command chair. His yeoman, Janice Rand, had joined them and he took a moment to ogle her Daisy Duke short-shorts and little gingham blouse that was tied in a knot up under her ample breasts.

"You want me to keep on recordin' all this, Captain?" she asked, batting her big baby blues at him.

"I thought the only recordin' we did was the other night in my cabin with that videocam--" began Kirk, then caught himself. "Uh, yeah, darlin'... You keep on doing what you do!"

"Okey-dokey!" she simpered brightly.

Kirk made himself quit looking down her blouse and turned to Sulu. "You got them varmints on the sensors?" he asked.

"I shore do, sir. We can gig 'em anytime you say 'frog'!"

"Then kick that mule, Sulu!"

The helmsman jammed his thumb on the big red button on his console marked "Whupass" and the phasers blasted in the direction of the Revenooer ship. There was no effect and Sulu punched his fist into the console.

"Shit! I had 'em dead on, too!" he grumbled.

"Well, git another bead on 'em!" Kirk ordered. But then it was too late. The stealthy black Revenooer ship appeared again and loosed another gigantic axe at them. "Haul ass!!" the captain ordered, leaping out of his chair.

Sulu slammed the starship into reverse and peeled rubber, leaving long smoking tire tracks hanging in space behind them. Still the chopping axe weapon gained inexorably on them, faster than the one before, and everyone on the bridge prepared to die.

Kirk grabbed Janice and pulled her into his arms, copping one last feel before they all perished. As the captain groped his yeoman's enormous silicon-enhanced boobs, Spock stared in horror at the big screen TV and shouted, "Hang on! Impact in five seconds!!"

KABOOM!

Suddenly folks was flying everywhere! The picture on the big screen TV was shaking like an episode from _LAPD Blue_ , then canted to one side as everyone on the bridge rolled and tumbled and hung over the rails under the impact. Kirk grabbed holt of the first thing he could find, which was the bodacious boobs of his yeoman, and the two of them rolled around on the deck for several minutes as the great ship shuddered. Sparks flew and thin tendrils of smoke filled the bridge. When it was over, folks started pickin' themselves up and rushing to their stations, using their John Deere caps to beat out the flames. All except Kirk and Rand, who remained on the deck, their eyes and bodies locked together in a passionate death grip.

Spock sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. "Captain?"

No answer.

Spock cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "CAPTAIN!"

That got Kirk's attention. Bubba hardly ever hollered. The Captain rolled off Rand and scrambled to his feet, a distinct bulge noticeable beneath his Levis. No one paid no attention, as it was a regular thing with Kirk.

Kirk gave his XO a crooked grin. "Cain't hang a man fer takin' advantage, Bubba." The grin faded quickly, tho', as the Captain turned to look up at the big screen TV. The Revenooers had disappeared again. "This shit is gettin' old!" he spat out. "Sulu, what in tarnation happened to our Whup-ass weapon?" he demanded.

Sulu shrugged. "Hell if'n I know, Cappy. Must be a short somewheres."

Spock cleared his throat again. "If I may, Captain. I believe there was a disruption of power between the magnetic linear hydrocoils and the transistor relays between the..."

"Huh?" Kirk interrupted, his expression clueless.

"I'll fix that short, Captain."

Kirk nodded. "Make it so, Number One."

Spock's brows shot up to his forehead. Kirk's mouth hung open in surprise as the words left his lips. Where in blue blazes had _that_ come from! Spock's Yankee talk must be contaminatin' him. He'd have to think hard on this later. Right now, tho, there was a whole heap of trouble still hanging out there somewhere in space.

He snapped his mouth shut and turned to the rest of the bridge crew. "Ya'll remember that old movie with called _Run Silent, Run Deep_? Well, that's what we's fixin ta do hereah. Scotty, cut the motors. Missy Uhura, pull the plug on all the walkie-talkies and put a holt on all signals goin' out. Styles, git yer ass down to the Whup-ass war room and see to helpin' those boys out. We hafta make sure those blasted Revenooers don't make it back across the Mason-Dixon Zone, or our asses will be in a sling fer sure."

A scene flashed into Kirk's mind, of doing hard time on a planet with no womenfolk and where the guards all sashayed around dressed like Liza Minelli, Carol Channing, or Cher, bursting into Broadway musical songs at the drop of a feather boa and insistin' on helping him with his shower at the end of a hard day splittin' rocks. He gulped around the sudden lump in his throat.

"If'n any one of ya'll even farts crossways, we'll be fried! So's ya'll all stay hushed now, ya hear?"

The crew all nodded in understanding.

"Captain, I really must fix that short," Spock interjected.

Kirk nodded. "Go right ahead, Bubba. But fer the love of Jesus, keep the ruckus down."

Spock returned Kirk's nod and set to fixin' the short.

* * *

Meanwhile, back on the Revenooer Ship, the Chief Revenooer and his assistant were having a conversation.

"I tell you, they are dead!" the Assistant L'Roy told his boss. "Look, it has been 3 hours and they have not moved from this spot ... I say NOW is the time to attack!"

"Be still," his boss whispered through thin lips. He knew L'Roy was very ambitious and after his job; and the fact that L'Roy's uncle was a Senator did not help matters any.

But the Chief was a wily man, a veteran of numerous raids, especially along the Klingon corridor and some of the Southern Colonies where moonshine stills and large marijuana fields (also known as "medicinal tobaccy") were common. He was not about to let some young whippersnapper ruin his career through a careless move, no matter HOW well connected he was.

"If it were anyone else, I would say you are correct," the CR continued, looking L'Roy straight in the eye. "But this is the legendary Jimbob Tomcat Kirk we are talking about. Despite his redneck ways, he is very intelligent. He has outsmarted our forces for light years ... No, they are not dead ... They are merely ... how does that expression go? 'playing possum.'"

"For what purpose?" argued L'Roy. "What can they possible hope to gain by lying low and pretending to be dead?"

"Studying our weaknesses ... trying to see if they can find a vulnerable spot," the CR replied quietly. "If I were Kirk, that is what I would be doing."

"I say you are wrong, old man!" snarled L'Roy ... Just then there was a noise from the speaker, and the communications officer exclaimed, "Captain, there is a signal from the _Enterprise_!"

* * * *

Meanwhile, on the bridge, Spock had been lurking under the console where the "Whup Ass" button was located, fixing the short. Lt. Uhura was lying beside him to hand him whatever tools he needed. Unfortunately, it was very cramped in that console, and Spock inadvertently brushed against one of Uhura's boobs, which caused her to squeal in surprise, right into a microphone that she had forgotten to turn off. Spock quickly clamped his hand over her mouth and her eyes widened in surprise! Kirk looked down at his first officer and his communications officer in surprise ... Who'da thunk it? he thought as Spock carefully tried to maneuver himself out from under the console without further rubbing against Uhura and making any more noise than they already had. Kirk had to hide a grin at Spock's discomfort as the first officer turned to hand Uhura some wires that were dangling from the console.

Kirk held up his hand... "It's okay," he whispered, "It's okay ... Sulu, on my signal, you need to be ready to push that red button ... How's it comin' Spock?"

"Almost finished, Captain," Spock said. "Lt. Uhura, cross-circuit to B and realign this connection to port C."

"Huh?" Uhura asked.

Spock sighed. "Take this blue wire and cross it with this red wire and stick it into this little portal here."

"Oh," Uhura said, as she took the wires from him. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" And as she made the connection, the Whup-Ass button lit up filling the bridge with a deep red glow.

"Bring up the runnin' lights, and be ready to take off at a minute's notice," Kirks said. "We're gonna shoot at 'em and then try to see if'n we can't maneuver behind 'em..."

* * *

Meanwhile back on the Revenooer's ship, the IRS _Deductible_ , L'Roy barked at his boss: "Sir, the _Enterprise_ has turned on its running lights..."

"Yes, so I see," said the CR. "Very well, we will prepare to fire on them ... but on MY orders!"

"Very well, sir," L'Roy said sullenly, and waited for further orders...

* * *

"Spock, go check things out down in the Whupass Room and make sure they're ready to blow down there," the Captain ordered as he settled back into the comfort of his pickup seat and tied the rope around his waist to make sure he didn't go flying around the room every time they hit a bump like everyone else did. He'd pert near swallowed his chaw of Skoal last time they'd got whomped.

As Spock started to get on the big Otis elevator, Kirk added, "And don't let Stiles give you no shit, neither! If he starts gettin' uppity, just whop him upside the head with a two by four!"

"Um ... aye, sir," Spock answered rather uncertainly and boarded the elevator, contemplating the fact that Vulcans did not usually employ violence to get their points across. They were fonder of more covert activities, such as wire taps and blackmail photos. For instance, there was that tape he currently had in his possession of Dr. McCoy and Nurse...

The elevator doors snapped open, interrupting his thoughts, and Spock marched out, handily dodging the pile of cow poop in the middle of the corridor. It smelled like a barn down here, which was hardly surprising since the ship's complement of cows, pigs and chickens was generally housed on this floor.

Spock ignored the livestock as he proceeded purposefully toward the Whupass Room, where the ship's arsenal of handguns, deer rifles, .22's, target pistols, Colt .45's, 12 gauge double-barreled shotguns, 44 Magnums, Uzi's, AK-47's, and all-purpose, patented, guaranteed, 10-megaton Acme Whup Yore Ass Torpedoes were stored. The door to the arsenal was plastered with a large poster of Charlton Heston wearing a National Rifle Association baseball cap and sporting a high-powered, scope-mounted, supercharged phaser rifle, with the caption underneath, "They'll take my phaser when they pry it from my cold dead fingers!"

Spock only paused to shove a squawking hen out of the way and marched boldly into the Whupass Room. There he found Stiles and Tomlinson each swigging from a bottle of Jack Daniels and watching "The Dukes of Hazzard" on the monitor screen. The Duke boys were just jumping the General Lee over a hay truck and letting rip a wild "Yeeee-haaaaah!"

The Vulcan frowned and stated, "You men are supposed to be at battle stations! We are about to attack the Revenooers!"

Stiles chug-a-lugged the rest of his JD, then grasped the neck of the bottle and smashed it against the console. Swaying drunkenly, he brandished his homemade weapon. "We don' need no long-earred Yankee varmints down here tellin' us what to do! Now ... git!"

Spock decided he needed a couple of security guards backing him up. The former linebackers they typically hired as muscle were not very bright, but could usually be counted on to enforce the Vulcan's orders. Well, come to think of it, maybe he'd better bring more than a couple. At least half of them would be killed by outrageous circumstances within the first five minutes of an engagement.

With that, the Vulcan edged out of the Whupass Room and disappeared down the corridor, kicking a goat out of the way.

As the door closed behind him, Stiles settled back with Tomlinson and tossed the broken whiskey bottle onto the pile behind him. Letting out a loud, satisfied burp, he put his feet back up and watched Boss Hogg bluster on about something on the monitor.

Tomlinson wrinkled his nose and waved his hand in front of his face. "Man! What's that awful smell?!" he asked.

"Aw, I just cut one," Stiles answered, unperturbed. "All them beans I been eatin' lately."

"No, this is worse than that even!" Tomlinson replied. "Whew! This'd knock a buzzard off a gut wagon!" Turning, he suddenly saw greenish gas spewing from a cracked seal behind them. "Mother of pearl!" he shouted. "The manure spreader's done sprung a leak! Run for your life!!"

* * *

(Meanwhile, up on the bridge ... )

"YeeeeeHahhhh! Got 'em, Cappy!" Sulu hollered out. He played with the pretty lights on the board in front of him for a few seconds and a picture appeared on the big screen TV. It was the sleek black and chrome lines of the I.R.S. D _eductible_ with a big, lurid red bullseye superimposed over it. "We got 'em treed fer sure!" Sulu announced gleefully.

Kirk started to leap from the pickup seat/command chair, then fell back hard on his ass with a loud 'Ooof!'. He'd forgotten about the rope he'd tied around his waist. "Well, shee-it!" he grumbled as his fingers fumbled to untie the damned thing. In front of him, Uhura's beautiful, delicate little brown hand was raised poised above the Big Red Button marked 'Whup Ass'. She turned her large brown eyes to her captain and batted her lashes at him alluringly.

"Please, Cap'n Sugah? I hardly never get to play with the Big Red Button."

As Kirk struggled to get the damned rope from his waist, he considered the idea. Uhura would be mighty grateful if he let her hit the Big Red Button. _Mighty grateful_ , he thought with a wide grin. Then he came back to himself. Nope, he was The Captain, by God! It jus wouldn't be fittin' to let such a purty young thing steal his thunder that way. Not fittin a'tall. Sides, he had his reputashon to consider. Finally freed from the rope, he hopped down to the console in front of him. "Sorry, Missy. But this hereah is a man's job."

Uhura crossed her arms under her ample breasts and stuck her bottom lip out in a sultry pout. "All I ever get to do is 'Hailing frequencies open, sir', or 'Incoming message, Cap'n Sugah.'" Uhura mimicked in a high pitched, super sweet honeyed voice. "And I went through basic for this?! Well, let me tell you, Cap'n Sugah, ifn you think that's all I'm good for round hereah, then next time you comes sniffing round my cabin with that mournful hound dog look on yore silly-assed face you kin jus kiss my grits!"

Kirk stood beside Uhura and peered down at the wonderfully deep line of cleavage spilling over the top of her Daisy Mae uniform, made deeper by her arms crossed underneath her boobs and pushing them up a bit. He loved Uhura's grits. And, man oh man, what he wouldn't do right now jus to burrow his nose ...

"Cappy!" Sulu interjected. "We has to fire soon, else we'll be out of target range!"

Kirk gave Uhura his 100% guaranteed never to miss grin and made his decision. "All right, Missy. You heard the man. Put some Whupass on 'em, gal!"

Uhura shot him back a brilliant smile of her own, "Thanks, Cap'n Sugah." Uncrossing her arms, she slammed the Big Red Button on the console with her delicate little fist, while with her other arm she braced herself against the console for the buck of the whupass torpedo being released from the whupass torpedo bay. Kirk had braced himself behind her, leaning over her shoulder.

Nothing happened.

"Well, shee-it!" Kirk exclaimed. "Hit it again, Missy!"

Uhura pounded the Button again with all her delicate little might. Still, nothing happened. "Jesus H. Christ! The one time I get to hit the Big Red Button and the damned thing's busted!" she complained loudly.

Kirk reached over and pounded the Button hisself, jus to make sure. Nothing. His hand went quickly to the CB switch on the navigation section of the console. "Kirk to the Whupass Room! Kirk to the Whupass Room! Come in, Whupass Room! Over."

Only static greeted their ears ...

* * *

(Back in the livestock strewn corridors outside the Whupass War Room ...)

Spock was meticulously sidestepping dung piles and chicken shit in search of the aforementioned linebacker security types, when Kirk's panicked voice boomed over the shipwide CB speakers.

"Kirk to the Whupass Room! Kirk to the Whupass Room! Come in, Whupass Room! Over."

Spock's head snapped up and he stopped dead in his tracks. Now what in the name of all his Vulcan ancestors was the trouble now? Probably those imbecile hayseeds in the Whupass War Room were too tanked on Jack Daniel's to respond. He turned with alacrity and was just about to head back the way he had come, when he stopped and threw up his hands...

"CUT!" the director shouted out.

With a heavy sigh, the director walked over to Nimoy. "Okay, Len. What's the trouble?"

"I just can't do it. I'm sorry, but this is possibly the most asinine thing the Ladies of the Spock and Christine List have ever put me through."

Shatner ambled over from the Bridge set, tugging at his gold plaid uniform tunic, unsuccessfully trying to hide the little spare tire hanging over the tight waistband of his uniform Levi's. He had abandoned the overalls from earlier in the script, deciding they didn't do his physique justice. Besides, if his shirt got torn in this one, the overall bib would get in the way of the magnificent display of his manly hairless chest. "Oh, come on, Leonard. Let the Ladies have their fun. Look, we're almost at the end. Then we can all go back home to our own universe in our own timeline and have a tall cool one."

Nimoy turned his glare on Shatner, unconsciously raising a Spockian eyebrow. "You're just saying that, Bill, because in this one, you have a much bigger role than you usually get with the Ladies."

Shatner shrugged. "True, but what I think is ... you just don't want the Ladies to see that you run like a girl. Especially rounding that corner in the corridor," Shatner grinned.

"I do not!" Nimoy responded indignantly.

Shatner chuckled. "Oh, yes you do, my friend. I've seen 'Balance of Terror' at least a half dozen times. Yeah, just like a girl. Arms all akimbo ... kind of like an ostrich trying to fly ..." Shatner broke up in staccato like giggles, joined by several of the grips on the film crew.

Nimoy crossed his arms over his chest, still very much in character. "You're just jealous as usual, wanting to steal all the scenes. Well, this is the _Spock and Christine_ Mailing List. Spock. Christine. Get it? And 'I AM Spock'," Nimoy intoned dryly.

"So I've read, Leonard. Good book, by the way. Much better than your earlier one 'I Am NOT Spock'. I think the Ladies like it better, too," Shatner added as an after thought.

"You really think so, Bill?" Nimoy asked, flattered in spite of himself.

"Yeah, but that's beside the point," Shatner continued. "Look, the Ladies are gonna do what the Ladies are gonna do," he replied philosophically. "It'd be best if you'd just let them get on with it. They'll make it up to Spock later. They always do." Shatner's eyes crinkled up at their corners as his grin grew wider. "Look at the bright side. In the next story, you might even get to go into Pon Farr again. They're not known as The Lascivious Ladies of the List for nothing, you know. And they seem to like to do that on a regular basis, especially on Friday nights. And Friday is just a few nights away..."

Nimoy raised a hand to pull at his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Yes, this is true..."

"And who knows? Spock might even get to see a little action between the sheets on this one before it's all over. Or at least get to make some totally obtuse and profound statement about protesting against nature and all that," Shatner continued to cajole. He didn't mention that he could almost feel it in his bones that even Kirk might get to see a little of that action in this story: A rare thing indeed with the Ladies.

"Yeah," Majel Barrett Roddenberry piped up from her director's chair on the sidelines where she had been waiting patiently for what seemed like eons now. She almost never had to wait this long. "Listen to Bill, Leonard," she said reasonably in her husky voice as she tugged at the Daisy Mae halter top she had donned in preparation for this one. It never hurt to be prepared. "He's probably right. The Ladies will make it up to Spock. They're deadly serious about keeping him in character most of the time. So, let's wrap this baby up."

Nimoy was silent a few more minutes, then nodded curtly, reaching a decision. "OK," he relented. "But I want it clearly understood," and he paused to look heavenward at the Ladies he knew were listening just beyond in some murky online distance, "I am proceeding here under protest."

"Understood," a disembodied every-female voice boomed over all of them.

The director, who had been standing silently during the entire exchange, went to his star and patted Nimoy on the shoulder sympathetically. "You're a true professional, Leonard. Now come on, let's get back to work."

Nimoy took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly before opening them again as he let the breath out slowly. "Very well. I'm ready."

The director nodded, his look imparting his very real admiration for an actor/character who could rise above this script. "Okay people! Clear the set!" he yelled out as he made his way back to his position.

The gofer with the scene board hopped in front of the keyboard. "Dangling in Deep Doo Doo; scene 12, take two!" he announced crisply as the bar snapped down.

Nimoy looked up as the director made a gesture with his hand. "And ... action!" the director called out.

... Spock's head snapped up as he stopped dead in his tracks. Now what in the name of all his Vulcan ancestors was the trouble now? Probably those imbecile hayseeds in the Whupass War Room were too tanked on Jack Daniel's to respond. He turned with alacrity and started running back the way he had come, almost slipping on a particularly slick spot of chicken shit as he rounded the corridor corner. Within seconds he rushed into the Whupass War Room ... and nearly fainted dead away. The stench was astounding! Especially to a Vulcan whose sense of smell was, of course, much keener than that of a mere Human's, like all the other senses. (Although no such thing had ever been written in TOS that Nimoy could recall.)

Kirk's voice continued to issue desperately through the CB speakers. "Kirk to Whupass War Room! Come in! Come in! We need those whupass torpedoes NOW! Over!"

Eyes tearing, Spock summoned all his Vulcan stoicism and made his way through the malignant green fog of pungent fumes, almost stumbling in his haste to reach the Whupass Torpedo console. His fingers groped blindly for a moment, then found the Big Red Button which corresponded to the one on the bridge. He hit it, and the ship bucked in release.

Struggling to get out of the methane-rich atmosphere of the Whupass Room, Spock stumbled over a body on the floor. Forcing his eyes open a crack, he recognized Stiles, overcome by the fumes ... or passed out dead drunk, one way or the other. Spock started to step over him and get the hell out but then something occurred to him that made him change his plans. That sucker owed him money and he was damned if he'd let Stiles bite the big one without coughing up the credits first!

Reaching down, Spock grasped Stiles by his overall straps and hauled him bodily out of the deadly, manure-charged room. That little punk ass Tomlinson was on his own, though. Spock would be damned before he'd go back into that hell hole to get _him_. Coughing and retching, the Vulcan dragged Stiles' inert body through the corridor, scattering geese and goats, getting them both clear before he finally succumbed to the fumes and passed clean out, landing face first in a chicken nest full of fresh laid eggs. "Shit," he pondered with his last conscious thought. "And I had my mouth all set for some huevos rancheros, too!" Then he knew only blackness.

* * *

On the bridge, Kirk watched as the whupass torpedo impacted with the Revenooer ship, exploding in a torrent of particularly purulent manure, enveloping the enemy ship in stinking brown filth.

The big screen TV lit up with the head Revenooer's face, stricken by the devastating attack. Behind him, Kirk could see brown goo dripping from the ceiling and covering the consoles, all his men dead from the fumes.

The other man looked so pitiful that Kirk felt a pang of guilt. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all, he thought. Shit, he probably liked to drink and fuck around just like anybody else. Hell, he probably even had a copy of that special Playboy issue featuring the Women of the Treasury Department. Whew! Kirk thought, momentarily distracted. That Miss February had the biggest set of knockers he'd ever laid eyes on and--

"Captain," the Revenooer man interrupted his ruminations. "Please, no more. We give up."

"Well, shit, I'm shore happy to hear that," Kirk answered. "Why don't y'all sit right there and we'll bring y'all on board."

"No, we're under orders to self-destruct if this ever happens," the Revenooer captain answered sadly.

"Hell, ain't no cause to go and do that," Kirk argued half-heartedly. "What good'd that do?"

"None, except that it would keep you hillbillies from getting your hands on all the confiscated moonshine we have on board," the Yankee answered. He turned to the console before him, wiped away the shit and punched his own Big Red Button.

Kirk vaulted out of the command chair. "What?! No, wait!!"

Too late. The I.R.S. D _eductible_ exploded in an intensive blue-white conflagration of ignited alcohol and was gone a moment later. Kirk sat heavily back in his chair. "Shit a load of 2x4's!" he exclaimed, in shock. "What a waste of good sippin' liquor! The horror! The horror!"

* * *

Later on, Kirk went down to sick bay and found Spock, all cleaned up and the egg off his face, standing beside a similarly cleaned up Stiles, who was laid out in one of the Craftmatic Adjustable Beds, making the head and foot go up and down in various variations, trying to find one that was comfortable.

"Well, I see you come through it okay, Bubba," Kirk commented to his first officer.

"Yes, thank you, Captain."

Stiles paused in playing with the bed controls and spoke up. "Mr. Spock, he done come runnin' back in that shit hole and pulled me out, sir. I ain't never gonna fergit that."

Spock looked slightly uncomfortable. "I only saved your lousy ass because you owe me 20 credits. Don't ever fergit _that_."

At that moment, Christine finally made an appearance, her blonde hair up in a cute little Elly May ponytail, and dressed in her regulation Daisy Duke short shorts, which showed off her long shapely legs, and a low-cut, skin-tight t-shirt that was knotted up under her ample boobs, which showed off her bra-less titties even better. She sidled up to Spock and slipped her arm through the crook in his elbow.

"I just checked your medical charts, Mr. Spock," the nurse said, batting huge blue eyes at the surprised Vulcan. "It's way past time you had a full, thorough physical. I think you oughta come and let me take care of you ... er, that right now."

Spock looked down and his gaze was immediately drawn to the way the thin white t-shirt was straining to contain Christine's silicone-enhanced hooters, her erect nipples protruding out through the cotton material like a couple of .44 caliber pistol shells. He felt something of _his_ start to protrude a little bit and he cleared his suddenly dry throat.

"You know, nurse, I do begin to feel a bit feverish," he answered her. "Perhaps we should proceed with a full physical. I may be going into _pon farr_ again and it is best to catch that early and treat it before it can get any worse."

Christine beamed and hugged his arm even tighter, pressing her big soft boob against him. "Or it could be that pesky Psi 2000 bug. I may be coming down with that again myself. We'd both better get cracking and get to that exam room right now!"

Enthralled with each other, the Vulcan and the nurse strolled off, leaving Kirk standing beside Stiles, both of them watching her wiggling ass, clad in such short cut-offs that her butt-cheeks hung out the bottom of them. Both Kirk and Stiles found themselves with hard-ons as a result.

Stiles, being confined to sick bay, couldn't do much about his except get to know his one-eyed weenie a little better, but Kirk thought immediately of Lt. Uhura and that brown sugar she promised him. Time to get that ol' hound dog look on his face again and go sniff her up. Rubbing his hands together, he exited sick bay without a second thought, tugging at his pants leg a little bit to give his growing boy a little more room to maneuver.

* * *

Epilogue:

Kirk stood up at the front of the chapel, dressed in his parson's outfit, as Spock tugged at his collar and watched a hugely pregnant Christine maneuver down the aisle on McCoy's arm. The doctor had a black scowl on his face and a double-barreled shot-phaser in his fist. Behind him, at the door, stood two red-shirted linebackers, both of them heavily armed and barring any escape from the room. Uhura stood waiting too, as Christine's maid of honor, escorted by Scotty who was clad formally in his kilt.

As they waited for the bride to make her ponderous way down the aisle, Scotty leaned over to Uhura and whispered, "Say, little lady, do you know what a Scotsman wears under his kilt? I'd be pleased to show you after the weddin' is over."

Uhura promptly whopped him up side the face with a good smack from her delicate brown hand, but didn't have time to pursue it because the bride and "father of the bride" had reached the front now.

Christine waddled her way to the altar and beamed a radiant smile at her soon-to-be husband. "Don't you worry none, honey," she promised him. "I'll be just as good as new after the twins are born and then you can git all pon-farr-y anytime you want to!"

Spock turned even paler than he was, not helped by the fact that McCoy had stepped behind and cocked the shot-phaser, pressing the barrel into the Vulcan's back.

Kirk grinned, highly amused, and opened his Abridged Good Book to the weddin' ceremony. "Dearly beloved," he began. "We are here to unite this poor bastard ... this man and this bodacious little woman, who is lookin' mighty fine, even if she _is_ swelled up like a--"

Abruptly Uhura swayed and rushed out to the washroom. They could hear her retching her guts up for a few minutes, then she wobbled her way back into the chapel, a wet paper towel over her mouth. The ceremony had, of course, halted and all were staring at her in concern.

The beautiful dark women marched up to Kirk and poked an angry, accusing finger into his chest. "You son of a bitch!" she exclaimed hotly. "You done got me knocked up like a two dollah ho' and jus' because I believed that bullshit you tol' me about you bein' fixed and all! Sucka, you better do a double weddin' here or my pimp, Big Leroy, gonna pay you a visit and then you sho' nuff gonna be fixed! You hear me, muthafucker?"

Kirk gulped and glanced at the two huge, red-shirted guards at the door. One of them was a gigantic black man who grinned in malicious delight, his gold front tooth glinting in the room lights, and cracked his knuckles.

Kirk swallowed convulsively once again and resumed the ceremony in a shaky voice, "Dearly beloved, we all done gathered here to unite these _two_ sorry-assed men and these _two_ fine, bodacious wimmen folk..."

THE END


End file.
